The Marksman
It was a normal, uneventful day up to a few minutes ago. Now I am running as hard as I can, for what is behind me is more terrible than anything I have seen or known before. Against my better judgment, I glance over my shoulder; he's gaining on me, his blood red eyes burning into mine, his cloak sleeves beginning to rise. Out of the sleeves, come things that look like something only a madman could dream of; ten black tendrils, five from each sleeve, snake their way into the dim light, directly towards me. What is this thing? There's no way that he's human. I try to speed up, although my heart is pounding in my chest and my breath is growing short. I try not to look back, for fear of seeing the tendrils, and that I may lose speed in doing so. I see my house in the distance and I am running towards it at full speed. I feel my head start to throb meaning that I'll pass out soon if I don't get to safety. Only my sheer will to survive has gotten me this far and is forcing me to continue. I must get there I've come too far to give up now. I'm down to the last hundred feet, I start digging in my pocket for the keys; I then put one final burst of speed into my sprint and come to an abrupt stop when I reach the door. I jam the key into the lock and twist it. I then turn the knob, open the door, slam it behind me and lock it; although I doubt it will hold him for long. I grab the couch and push it in front of the door; barricading it shut. I then go to the phone to call the police. My heart is still going at three beats per second and my head is still throbbing. "Hello, 911. How may I assist you?" a male voice asks. "I need police,'' now''!" I yell. "Please, calm down, sir. Now, why do you need police?" "I've been followed home, someone's trying to kill me. I am panicking now, but I am holding back what I just saw." "OK, what's your-" The phone cut out! "Hello!? Hello, are you there?" No use, that thing must have done something to the phone. I'm about to run upstairs, then I realize that it probably isn't a good idea; as he will be able to trap me up there much more easily than downstairs, where there are many escapes. I head to the windows, checking to make sure that he isn't outside before I make one last daring move driving to the police station. I approach one of the windows and look through it, then I hear something in the kitchen; I rush to it, then step back when the light flickers and the ground shakes. A pool of darkness opens on the tiled floor, and the cloaked figure rises out of it, standing tall, head tilted to look down at me. The hood shadows his pale face, but I can make out a few tufts of black hair, shadows bordering his eyes, and black steel rings running through the lips of his top and bottom jaw. The cloak itself is weathered black; it seems too big for this man, as the sleeves drape nearly to the floor and the bottom trails behind him along the ground. He looks down at me, obvious contempt in his gaze and begins to speak in a soft raspy voice. "Why, Shaun?" I'm confused. "What do you mean?" I ask him. “Why do you mock me, Shaun?” He replies. I look at him strangely, I have absolutely no idea what he is talking about. "I never mocked you, I don't even know who you are." His body quivers for a bit, and then his skin pales to white and becomes heavily scarred. The shadows around him thicken and his eyes glow crimson, his voice changing to a deep, guttural growl. "And there you go again. Don't try my abilities, Shaun, you won't like me then." A few seconds after this, he returns to his previous state. It then hits me, this guy has been heard of all over the news! I had read a book recently from my father, who went missing a few weeks ago. This figure standing in front of me matches the description perfectly. This was the Guardian of the Truth, the bringer of doom. This was The Marksman. His lips curl into a wicked smile, the steel rings clinking together as he does so, as if he knows that comprehension has hit me. I know now what will happen next. Because of my lies, one of them I think was based on my assumption of a matter of someone's death, and unwittingly lying to myself in front of him just now, he will either choose to torture me, or kill me, or both. He instead looks at me evilly and asks me, "Do you want a chance to redeem yourself from your sins?" Before I can answer, he laughs, a truly horrible sound, like skeletons being crushed underfoot. "Of course you do. You don't want to die over a few petty lies, do you?" I can't answer him. "Well, if you are to redeem yourself, you will have to play a game with me." I don't like the sound of this at all. "What's this "game" you refer to?" I ask him suspiciously. "It's rather simple: you just have to run." That doesn't inspire any confidence at all. "No," I answer firmly. “No? You don't want to play? My master will be most surprised.” He replies. I grow curious. "Master? Who is your master?" It seems strange that one who already seems to have such terrible power is actually serving someone else. He looks at me, wicked smile still on his face. "You shall find out, in due time. However, you cannot be allowed to live much longer. Now, I will-" He froze, and then concentrated, as if listening to something. I look around, but I can't see anything. Another horrendous grin creeps onto The Marksman's face. "Since you haven't done that much wrong, I shall allow you a full hour to live on, say your goodbyes, however you want to spend it." The Marksman's eyes suddenly change from red to brown, and his voice changes to a more human one. "My only advice: use it wisely." The pool of shadow then opens back up on the floor, and the Marksman disappears into it. It is now that I write this, in an attempt to warn everyone of The Marksman. If you lie, simply put: he will find you. I also realise now that The Marksman used to be as much of a human as you and I are now, and that, somewhere under the identity that he is popularly known by, there is a poor, tortured young man. I can only hope that he can find himself again. It turns out that I had lied about the death of a Sheriff from a small town by making the assumption that it was the entity known as The Employer that had killed him. His name was Stanley Evans, and he had been on the trail of The Marksman, as well as The Employer, who I believe is the “master” that The Marksman was referring to. There is only one problem; one thing that doesn't seem to fit: The Marksman, from what I understand, has never really been known to let people live, for major lies or for small ones. Unless... Oh shit, what have I done? I've played right into its claws. The Marksman knew that I would do this, that I would spread the word. That is why it let me do this. Too late to delete now, he's back. Must get away. Now you all know the truth. At least a segment of it anyway. There is no easy way to put into words how complex my story really is. If you are reading this, from here on in to deny my existence, or claim ignorance will be treated for what it is: a horrible lie. Read the words of Shaun carefully, so that you may not end up dead. You probably will anyway, since I know every one of your lies that you still haven't confessed to. I know that one of you stole that extra cookie from the jar as a young one and insisted that it was your three year-old brother (at the time) who could walk, but didn't really understand how to speak for himself. You escaped, while he was punished for your lie. One of you smoked on the school grounds, but you dragged your best friend into it as well, and the teachers still believe that he is guilty. And I have not forgotten that one of you, one of you has told your mother that you hate her. Not only have you broken her heart in doing so, but you have told a lie that is so sickening that the guilt will hang over you like a cloud until you make it right. It is easy for you to come out and call me a demon, just like you thought of my master as one, but I am just doing my duty as The Guardian of the Truth. Period. Saying that will be counted against you as a lie, too. And remember: once I come for you, it is already too late. Sincerely, The Marksman. Yesterday, the police were called to a home in New York when a dead body was found. The identity of the man was discovered to be Shaun Davis. His sister, Sarah Davis, had gone to his house when she found him on the floor. "His eyes appeared to have been drilled through, and his mouth had definitely had something sharp put down it that tore up his throat." reported Sargent Jason Leonard. "All were leaking heavily with blood and brain fluid. The holes in the eyes ran straight into the skull, as though someone had taken a drill and put drove it right in." "I hadn't heard from him in a few days, and when I called his home phone, it told me that the number had been disconnected," Sarah told us, still in shock from the whole event. "I tried his mobile, but he wasn't picking up. So I decided to go to his house, just to check on him, make sure he's alright. But when I got there..." She cried, understandably. "He was there, on the floor. Mutilated." She refused to talk any further. "There is no doubt that this was a homicide, a homicide from the serial killer known only as The Marksman. There was the telltale target scratched into the forehead that indicated this." Jason continued. "He is a psychotic killer, and believe me when I say that we are doing our best to find him, but he keeps eluding us. So, speaking realistically, many more are bound to die before we catch him. I'm sorry if this is a downer, but bear with us. As I just said, we are doing our best to find him and make sure that he gets his well-deserved justice." If you have any information regarding Shaun's death or The Marksman, please contact the police on 911. Don't do it. I'm not the only one who can get you, even if you don't have any lies that haven't been accounted for. Screecher, Thanatophobia, Surge, Dr. Freak, Razor and Pyromaniac can get you as well, for they don't have the restrictions that I do. Category:Creepypasta Category:Horror Category:Sci-fi